


The Cure To Growing Older

by infinityonfic



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: College AU, Hooker AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:53:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1506188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinityonfic/pseuds/infinityonfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick needs a whore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure To Growing Older

**Author's Note:**

> This is as per my beta's request. So thank Dyanne (@itsafckndrag on tumblr).

It’s just another day at college, and Patrick is fucking sick of it all. His teacher drones on about something equally lame as sweating profusely on a disgustingly hot day, and Patrick can’t bring himself to focus. He’s figured out a way to stay awake in these boring classes though. After the last time this anal teacher called him out and made him blush in front of the entire class, Patrick worked out that daydreaming was a perfect way to keep himself entertained. Whether he is making music in his head, contemplating lyrics, or just imagining random scenarios, Patrick does it at least once a day.

Today, he starts, and it’s almost like his mind shuts off and he’s just dreaming, and Patrick wonders if all this daydreaming has prepped him for lucid dreaming. Well, there’s that, or he might just be too horny for his own good. He’s not gotten laid in so long, because it’s not exactly easy to get a guy to lay you on campus when being gay isn’t something you exactly _share_. Not for Patrick, anyway. He’s really sick of not being laid, and he’s so done with not getting any that he lets his mind drift, not giving a shit that he’s still in class.

He imagines hands, running down him, fingertips hot on every part of his skin, a breathless sigh, and a nameless guy hovering over him; the hands of a stranger tugging on the roots of his hair, the weight of the silence shattered by moans. He paints some tattoos on the guy he’s imagining, because he’s always loved the stark contrast of ink on skin, even though he refuses to get any on himself. He loves tracing his pale fingers along the lines and feeling the guy against him shudder while sucking a breath in. He imagines bucking up into the guy’s mouth, he imagines taking him all the way in and feeling full, and oh god it’s been too fucking long.

The bell rings. On second thought, Patrick ought to have saved up his pent up sexual frustration for his dorm room, because now he’s hard and has to figure out a way to walk out of class normally. His tight jeans are barely useful, since it just makes everything a little more painful. He gathers his notebook and pencil and hopes his cheeks aren’t red as he stands up and rushes out of the building. Luckily, his dorm is really close to this building, so he makes it back quickly, but not without difficulty. Judging by the lack of stifled laughs, Patrick manages to hide his little problem.

When he opens the door, his roommate is on his bed with his laptop on his stomach.

“Jon, can you get out of here?”

“Uh - ”

“Just, please,” he pleads, and Jon frowns, but closes the lid of his laptop and takes it out of the room. Patrick locks the door behind Jon and puts on the chain lock they installed (even though the campus disallows it, they figured no one would find out. It’s better to have a notice than to walk in on your roommate fucking someone).

He crawls under the covers (he’s never been good with seeing himself, and even with the curtains shut it’s too bright right now) and pulls his jeans off. He slips a hand into his boxers and bites his lip as he jerks off. He imagines the same ink-stained skin on top of him, the stranger’s hand on his cock as he bites at Patrick’s neck. He feels the guy pulling on Patrick’s hair as he jerks him off, and he feels the hot breaths, and the smile against his lips when he moans and comes into his hand. 

Patrick lies on the sheets breathing heavily, and he uses his free hand to push his hair back. He shuts his eyes and imagines the guy being real, making him feel everything he needs to feel. Unfortunately, the guy doesn’t exist.

Because the walls are thin and people are obnoxiously loud, he hears when someone outside yells, “whore!” and Patrick frowns at the derogatory term, but then he realizes it’s exactly what he needs. 

Patrick needs a whore.

-

He knows the streets. His parents taught him so that he’d stay away, and he’d heard from various people and one night hook ups where the best places to pick someone up are, so when Patrick’s cruising down a dimly lit row of streets, he’s nervous when he doesn’t see anyone around. But that’s normal, right? They wouldn’t exactly be standing out on the corner of the street waiting to be arrested or something. Unless that was their thing, then hey.

Maybe they’re all busy, and maybe Patrick should just turn back, but he’s already half hard and fuck if he hasn’t thought about this before. He’s totally planned on doing it once, just once, and he has the money saved up from various aunts and uncles from birthdays. If only his relatives knew where their money was going, he thinks, and adds a sour laugh at the end of the thought.

He finds an empty parking lot and pulls into it, gets out of the car and tugs his hood up before walking around. He breathes into his hands and walks a few blocks, and is almost discouraged until he hears a moan from one of the alleys in the area. He slows down his steps and peers past the corner of a brick building, and catches sight of a guy on his knees, sucking someone off. His breath hitches and he almost stares, but feels like he’s invading something intimate and pulls back.

“Voyeur, huh?” Someone says behind him. Patrick squeezes his eyes shut and hopes it’s what he’s looking for, a guy who’s a good match. He’s not terribly picky, but he’d hate to be doing a thirty year old when he’s not even out of college. “You are here for that, right?” The guy says again, and his voice is low and dark, and it sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine. Oh, he could get off to that voice alone.

He turns around slowly, and the guy standing in front of him is almost his height, looks about his age. Patrick can’t tell under the dim lighting, but he looks a little tan. The guy steps forward into some light and Patrick’s brain stops functioning because the guys is fucking _perfect_. He has on a black shirt that’s a little too tight, and equally tight jeans that’re hung low on his hips, and he purposely stretches his arms above his head, letting Patrick get a glimpse of skin, and there’s ink there. He only sees it for a second, but he can tell it’s covered up a bit by the guy’s boxers and Patrick suddenly wants to know what it’s like to see the full thing. He has tattoos, too, and it’s like there’s a sign above Patrick’s head that screams “I LIKE TATOOS,” because he swears he’s found the perfect guy for the night. He smirks at Patrick, and Patrick just wants to kiss the smile off his face.

Patrick’s throat is dry and he only remembers that he was asked a question when the guy lifts an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah,  I – ”

“Uh huh, and how old are you?”

Patrick hesitates. “20.” 19. 

“Sounds right. You look younger though.” Patrick gulps and his palms begin to sweat. “But that must just be how cute you are, huh?” Patrick blushes and gapes. 

“I - ”

“I’m 24. “

“Oh.”

“So. What do you like?”

“Uhm.”

“First time?”

“No.”

“Here, I mean.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

The guy smiles, only it’s a little less predatory now, and Patrick relaxes a little.

“What’s your type then?” He asks, and Patrick barely stops himself from letting the word _you_ spill from his lips.

“I’m… not exactly picky.”

“Huh.” He glances down at Patrick’s body, taking in his form, and Patrick feels like turning away and shielding himself but he doesn’t. He’s the one that wanted this; to be devoured by a stranger and lose all feeling. His eyes stop on the way back up Patrick’s legs right at his crotch and Patrick feels his cheeks heating up. He’s pretty sure the guy can see that he’s hard already, especially since this is his profession or whatever. Patrick doesn’t know. He doesn’t need to know. The guy strides up to Patrick, and Patrick frowns partly because the guy is out of the light and he can’t stare anymore, but also because the guy is approaching him and he should really just pull it together and say something.

“I – You’ll do,” he says pathetically, and the guy pouts, but he retains an aura of amusement, even as he’s less than a metre from Patrick.

“I’ll do? That’s it? I can find you someone better.”

“No, it’s okay I - ”

“What?” The guy says, and Patrick can feel his breath on his own lips.

Patrick knows what the guy wants him to say, and when he flicks out his tongue to wet his lower lip, Patrick crumbles. “I want you.”

The guy steps closer, and Patrick instinctively takes a step back, and then another, but he feels the cold press of bricks against his back. “What’s your name?”

“Why do you ask?” Patrick whispers.

“Don’t you like it when the guy you’re fucking moans your name?” He asks, and drops his head to Patrick’s neck where he breathes hotly against his skin.

“I – I was kind of hoping it would be the other way around.”

The guy chuckles and flicks his tongue out, and Patrick jumps a little. “Anything you want. Name?”

“Patrick,” he says without thinking. He could’ve given some other name, but he can’t help his state of mind. “Yours?”

The guy looks up at Patrick thoughtfully, and Patrick blushes under his intense gaze. “Pete. And I – I know people use street names here, but that’s my real name.”

Patrick nods. He’s not sure if he should believe him. “Okay, Pete. Name your price.” 

Pete watches him again and presses his body up against Patrick and leans in to kiss him gently, and coming from a prostitute it feels odd to get such a gesture. “You look kind of young, in college,” he remarks when he pulls away.

“Yeah.”

“So tell you what, we’ll do what you want and you name your price. Give me what you think I’m worth.”

Patrick frowns. He doesn’t like the way Pete put it. A human isn’t worth anything that can be accounted for by money, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Your place or mine?” Pete whispers against the shell of his ear, and Patrick remembers oh yeah, there’s a point to this.

“Yours.”

“You got a car?”

“Mhm.”

“Let’s go then,” Pete says, and steps away from Patrick, the cold air rushing between them and making Patrick feel a little exposed.

Patrick walks Pete to his car and it’s difficult, but it wasn’t long ago that he had to hide his hard-on while walking on campus. Pete, at least, wouldn’t really expect much of him.

Pete gives the directions to a place nearby, but not too close. While they’re on their way, Pete settles his hand on Patrick’s thigh, and it takes all he has not to pull over and get it done with then and there.

“So, what do you like?”

Patrick stares ahead at the road, his mind falling blank. It isn’t just the words, but the way Pete says them, a darkness twisted into them that makes him want, want, want.

“I uh - ” he says, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He licks his lips and breathes for a second. “I like blowing, getting or giving. I - ” And suddenly, with the way Pete’s hand is trailing a little closer to his crotch, Patrick feels like the information is too personal to divulge.

“Take your time,” Pete whispers.

“Uhm, fucking, getting fucked.”

“Mhm?”

“Yeah.”

“Any kinks?” Pete asks seriously, though when Patrick looks over he’s wearing a devilish smirk.

Patrick shuffles in the driver’s seat as Pete instructs him to turn left, but all it does is make Pete’s hand get _that much closer_. He feels a rush of adrenaline, a confidence he lost a while ago rushing through him. “Hair pulling, sure. Biting, marking, probably maybe mild bondage, rimming, riding, tattoos.” He stops there, and sees Pete’s smile falter in the corner of his eye.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“You’re the dick that asked,” Patrick spits, because if the guy he’s hiring can’t handle it, then he can fuck right off.

“No, no – I. You didn’t seem like the type to be so forward. I wanted to see you blush more,” Pete says, and grins when the light catches Patrick’s pink stained cheeks. “There we go.”

Patrick glances over and almost jerks the steering wheel. Pete’s smile is like a fucking blow to the gut.

“Eyes on the road, hun,” Pete teases. He rubs his hand up and down Patrick’s thigh, smiling passively. “Tattoos, huh? Guess you found the right guy tonight.”

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek and hums.

“Right here,” Pete says, pointing to a building of flats on the right. “You can park on the street here.”

Patrick does it and turns the car off, and Pete gets out, ducking his head back in to see Patrick. “You coming, Patrick?” It’s the first time he’s used Patrick’s name, but it sounds weirdly perfect. Patrick shoves the thought from his mind aggressively. He’s just for this one time.

He gets out of the car and locks it, following Pete into a run down building, up a couple of flights of stairs, and soon he’s standing behind Pete as he opens the door to his flat. Patrick’s almost panicking, palms slick and his heart racing. He’s ready to run, his body is making sure of it, but he wants this. He asked for it. Pete walks in, and as soon as he does, he pulls his shirt off and Patrick stares at a tattoo that runs across his shoulders, and one around his lower back. He turns around and Patrick sucks a breath in.

“Tattoos,” Pete says pointedly, and that is _harsh_ , because he’s totally using what Patrick said against him. He has a collar of thorns, and full sleeves that look so animated that Patrick just wants to take a few minutes to read into every one of them. He keeps from looking below Pete’s chest, even though this is what he’s here for. He shuts the door behind himself and puts his hand on the lock, turning to check for Pete’s approval before locking the door.

He turns back around and stares at Pete. He doesn’t know what to do. Sure, he wants this and he’s so hard right now, but he’s stuck on the spot, drinking in Pete’s skin. He lets his eyes fall and looks at the bat tattoo, lets his eyes drift over Pete’s prominent v lines. He’s mildly jealous of how hot Pete looks like this.

“How do you want me?” Pete asks, and Patrick loses his resolve right then and walks up to Pete, cups his face in his hands and kisses him. It’s rough at first, desperate and pointless, but Pete starts to take control and slows the kisses down, deepening them and making Patrick’s toes curl.

“One sec,” Patrick says, pulling back to tug his shoes and socks off. He puts them on the side and when he looks up Pete’s done the same, but he’s also working at the zipper of his jeans. He catches Patrick’s eye and quirks one corner of his mouth up in a smile. Patrick’s strength falters.

“You wanted to take care of this part?” He asks, and Patrick gulps before shaking his head.

“It’s okay.”

When he’s pulled his skintight jeans off, Pete catches up to Patrick again and kisses him again, sliding his hands down Patrick’s torso and palming Patrick’s cock through his jeans. Patrick moans and presses into Pete’s hand. “Please,” he gasps. Pete works away at the zipper and helps Patrick get them off, and Patrick’s only slightly self-conscious.

Pete drops to his knees and begins mouthing at Patrick’s hip.

“Shouldn’t we go somewhere else?” Patrick asks, biting his lip as Pete pulls his boxers down and starts jerking him off.

“Like where?” Pete’s breath hits Patrick’s cock and he sucks in a breath of air.

“Bedroom or – anywhere but out in the hallway?”

Pete hums, but looks up at Patrick and licks his lips. “Sure, but right now I wanna blow you.”

“I - ” Patrick starts, but he can’t think of a reply to that, not with the way the dark words worked through his mind. “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah?” Pete asks, and it sounds sincere. Patrick’s almost caught off guard, but he nods.

“Just – wall or something,” Patrick insists. The last thing he wants is to fall because of weak knees mid-blowjob.

Patrick lets Pete blow him until he’s sure he’s about to come, and forces Pete to stand up. They kiss messily when they head to the bedroom, where Patrick lies on his back and arches into Pete’s fingers and his goddamn _tongue_ and lets Pete fuck him hard, their moans filling the room. Halfway through, Patrick whines and pushes Pete over and settles on top of him, mumbling a breathy, “Wanna ride you,” before positioning himself and leaning over to trace Pete’s thorns with his tongue. It doesn’t last long from there; Patrick comes and collapses, and even though Pete insists he can come just like this, Patrick gets off him and throws out the condom, getting a quick confirmation that Pete’s clean before going down on him, and teasing him by tracing the tattoo just above his cock. Pete comes with a moan, a slurred call of Patrick’s name that comes out sounding like “Trick.” It’s probably a mistake, just Pete not being able to say his full name in the throes of his orgasm while pulling on Patrick’s hair, but Patrick finds an intimacy that he hadn’t counted on.

After, Pete beckons Patrick to come up beside him, and Patrick should really know better and just get up and give Pete his money and go back to campus, but he’s susceptible to this guy in front of him, the guy that he’d dreamt about so many times before, now real in his arms. Pete insists on cuddling Patrick, and he lets him for a while; figures Pete will tell him when he needs to leave, but Pete doesn’t. Instead, Pete falls asleep and Patrick doesn’t know what to do because he’s trapped in Pete’s arms and he has yet to pay him. So he listens to Pete’s breaths and falls asleep.

In the morning, Pete’s arms aren’t wrapped around Patrick, so he gets up slowly so as not to wake Pete, but it turns out Pete’s a light sleeper because he stirs. “Hey, Patrick?” He says sleepily. Patrick grimaces and turns around. Too bad they were in too much of a rush yesterday; Patrick’s lack of boxers or even jeans makes him extremely self-conscious.

“Yeah?”

“Are you – you going?”

Patrick looks at him strangely and replies, “Uhm, yeah? I mean – I would’ve gone last night bu-”

Pete sits up all of a sudden and he rubs his hands over his face mumbling, “Fuck, fuck. Of course. Fuck, I’m sorry dude I didn’t mean to – you should’ve just shoved me off I – You don’t have to pay for that, it’s my fault, fuck I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Patrick says, putting an arm around his stomach, rocking back and forth on his feet. “No, no it’s okay, seriously. Shit happens.”

Pete cringes, but it quickly disappears and he clears his throat. “Right, uh – I guess most of your clothes are outside so you can get those and uh-”

“I need to go back to my place. You can come to my car with me and I’ll give you the money; I put it in there.”

Pete smiles sheepishly. “That’s gonna look really inconspicuous, huh?”

“Got any better ideas?” Patrick shoots back, and Pete shrugs with a lazy smile still playing on his lips. Patrick leaves and grabs his clothes, tugging them on, and just as he gets his shirt on, Pete comes out fully dressed.

“Right,” Patrick says. “Let’s – let’s go.”

Pete nods and they go back the way they came in, and in the daylight the area looks shifty enough that Patrick shouldn’t worry about getting caught, but he still feels wary.

Patrick pulls an envelope out of the glove compartment and sorts through what he has. “How much?”

“I told you,” Pete replies simply.

Right. _What he’s worth_.

Patrick doesn’t really _know_ what the sensible amount to give is, but he’s waited for a spontaneous thing like this and has had a generous amount of savings set aside for his own pleasures, and to be honest, last night with Pete, his dream guy, is worth every penny he has. So he doesn’t even count, just hands a wad of cash over, that he knows is $2000.

Pete stares at the money in his palm and turns away from Patrick to count it, and he gasps. He turns back to Patrick and says, “I – I really can’t take this much, I - ”

“I was told to pay you what I felt like paying you,” Patrick says, avoiding mentioning a human’s worth, because putting worth to someone in a quantitative fashion is distasteful to him. “So there.”

“You’re – you’re a college student, you can’t just - ”

“Please. Take it. It’s the one time I’m going to do it anyway,” Patrick says, and Pete looks pained for a moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, I – thanks. A lot.”

“No problem. And hey, if it gets you out of this place, I’m glad I gave it to you.”

“Oh,” Pete says, ducking his head. “I don’t stay here. It’s just for this stuff, you know? I wouldn’t risk having any customers stalking me.” Patrick swears he catches a blush, but he’s sure it’s just the fact that he only woke up, surely.

“That’s smart.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” Patrick says, “I guess – bye. Thanks for that.”

Pete bites his lip and Patrick tries not to think too hard on the way he saw Pete doing that exact same thing last night. “Can I just,” Pete mutters. “I think the amount you gave me more than covers this,” he says before leaning in to peck Patrick on the lips. “Bye.”

Patrick purses his lips together in a tight smile and quickly turns away, getting into the car and hoping Pete didn’t see his blush.

On the drive back, he doesn’t think about Pete, because he got all his daydreaming out of the way by actually taking action last night. He thinks about Jon, and realizes he’ll need an excuse for why he was out last night. He thinks about a few other things, refuses to think about Pete, but eventually he gives himself a moment at a red traffic light to reflect on the skin on skin contact, Pete’s hot breaths against his neck, and Pete in him, oh gosh. He only realizes the light’s green when someone honks their horn behind him.

When he gets back to his room, Jon is up, almost in the same position he saw him in yesterday.

“Hey,” Jon greets, not looking up from his laptop. Patrick hums and grabs some stuff from his clothes so he can shower. “How come you didn’t come back last night? I texted but you didn’t reply.”

Patrick doesn’t blush, because he practiced this excuse in the car. “I went out somewhere yesterday and met an old friend and went back to his place and we caught up and when I checked the time it was too late, so.”

“Cool. Did you have fun then?”

And this, silly as it is, makes Patrick flush a little, and he goes to grab his towel, making sure his back is turned to Jon. “Yeah, we were up pretty late just… having fun.”

He rushes out of the room and makes his way to the showers, pointedly thinking about music and nothing more.

It’s the weekend, so he doesn’t have class, but it’s nice out and Patrick needs to clear his mind of Pete, so after his shower he tells Jon he’s going for a walk, and does just that, exploring the campus.

And when he does, Patrick almost chokes and dies. Because that – no, that’s _not_ Pete. Only, as he discreetly moves closer, dodging the small crowds out in the park on campus, he sees the guy’s arms, and those tattoos look really familiar. Pete’s walking in his direction, and Patrick is frozen to the spot, can’t help but stare.

Pete looks up and double takes. His eyes go wide when he sees Patrick, and Patrick takes it as his cue to leave. Fuck. He’s going down a path that passes down the side of the library when he’s slammed up against the wall and finds him self eye to eye with none other than last night’s fuck.

“Pete?” He asks.

“Listen, Patrick, if that’s your name, you don’t fucking tell anyone anything, and I mean _anything_ , about what I do. Alright?”

“I – of course, no, Pete - ”

“If I so much as hear a sly joke from my friends I will find you. I’m not going to lose my place at this college just because some horny 20-year-old wanted sex last night, alright?”

“Pete, hey, let me talk,” Patrick whines, struggling out of Pete’s grip. “I’m not going to say anything, alright? Last night was just between you and me. I’m not that kind of guy.”

Pete’s expression softens and he steps back, running a hand through his hair. “I – sorry, I just. I can’t lose this, alright? I’ve worked so hard to get here doing a fucking poli sci major, and I just can’t.”

“Pete,” Patrick whispers, and his voice is gentle, making Pete look up. “I understand; I wouldn’t do that to you.” And Patrick mentally shoots himself in the head because the ‘to you’ part wasn’t meant to be verbalized.

Pete watches Patrick carefully for a moment, then sighs. “Thank you. I – sorry again.”

“Yeah, no it’s fine.”

Pete rocks on his feet awkwardly and gnaws on his lip, hands in pockets.

“So,” Patrick says.

Pete snaps his head up. “I should go.”

“You don’t - ” Patrick starts. Pete blinks. “I mean if you want to hang out, you don’t have to.” And maybe he’s not really used to this at all, because hanging out with someone whose body you bought the previous night is not normal, but Patrick doesn’t think twice on it.

Pete ducks his head and smiles a little. “Wouldn’t that be a little, you know, weird?”

“Only if you make it weird,” Patrick points out.

“Good point, Trick. I mean Patrick.”

Patrick grins and says, “You can call me that, it’s okay.”

Pete grins back at him, and Patrick should really learn to get used to that if they’re going to hang out for a while. “Uhm” Pete starts. “This might be weird but I need to get it off my chest. Last night was good, like, really good. Even for someone like me.”

“Oh. Wow. Thanks?”

Pete huffs a laugh, and Patrick’s almost startled to see Pete almost bashful when he was so forward and brash just hours ago, on the street and in bed.

“You, uh,” Patrick stumbles. “Yeah, I agree, it was pretty great.”

Pete tugs on the sleeves of his hoodie and bites his lip, flipping his hair out of his eyes before saying, “This is probably going to be even weirder but would you consider doing it again?”

“I said it was just the one time…”

“I mean with me. Just. Not like that. Just straight up sex.”

“Oh. _Oh_.”

Pete cringes and puts his palms out. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I - ”

“No,” Patrick says quickly. “No, I – I would. If you’re up for it I would do it again.”

Pete blinks at him, and Patrick sees the flush rising on his cheeks. “Yeah?”

Patrick thinks about the other day in class, imaging the guy with tattoos, dark, dark eyes, and a great taste, and knowing that Pete was exactly that, Patrick smiles shyly and nods his head. “Yeah.” 

“Awesome,” Pete says, a sudden ease washing over both of them.

“19, by the way,” Patrick adds, and Pete furrows his eyebrows together. “I’m 19, not 20. I might have lied.”

Pete rolls his eyes and grins, punching Patrick’s arm lightly. “Should’ve fuckin known it.”

Patrick bites his lip and takes a moment to dedicate Pete’s smile to memory, and he is so, so glad he saved up for last night.

 

 


End file.
